


Thunderous Beats and Stifled Cries

by SeraphinaGreene



Series: Behind the Mask [2]
Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sex Club, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphinaGreene/pseuds/SeraphinaGreene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Sex Club. Bujeet Smut Ahoy!"The air in the club’s back room was stifling, filled with thunderous beats and stifled cries. ... There was little warmth there, vacant and unforgiving, the smell of hairspray and other cosmetics so intense that it stung the nose. ... It was close to opening time now, only two men dared to remain in the bright-white room of shattered hopes and dreams."</p><p>Nearly two months after Baljeet's first encounter with none other than Buford VanStomm, the Indian young man finally sees him again when he is called in, the man as his client. Ferb has his own little surprise, as a redhead came along with Buford. But who is he? And why does he remind Ferb of his past?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderous Beats and Stifled Cries

Thunderous Beats and Stifled Cries

The air in the club’s back room was stifling, filled with thunderous beats and stifled cries. The harsh florescent lighting highlighted every piece of dust and flaw throughout the room. There was little warmth there, vacant and unforgiving, the smell of hairspray and other cosmetics so intense that it stung the nose.

Form-fitting pants to slinky shirts, whatever suited the mood or theme was at their disposal, and there were only enough stations for the dancers employed, no more, no less.

It was close to opening time now, only two men dared to remain in the bright-white room of shattered hopes and dreams.

“Don’t expect him to come back any time soon, Baljeet.” The green-haired man told him as he added a bit of last-minute flair to his attire. “He hasn’t been back in over a month.”

“He intends to come back, Ferb!” The darker-skinned man argued in protest, “I am not stupid!”

“Why are you so insistent on seeing him? I’m beginning to believe that you’re in love with him.” Ferb pursed his lips to coat them in a light shade of lip gloss.

“You know full well that is like the pot calling the kettle black.” Baljeet crossed his arms.

“Oh no.” The British-born man wagged his finger at him, “We are so not talking about Phineas right now. This isn’t about me, this is about you.” He jabbed his finger in the other man’s direction.

“I did not even mention—!” Baljeet began, but a lighter voice interrupted his own.

“Enough!” The door banged open to reveal an ebony-haired young woman, a black, beaded mask on her face, “There are two customers out front, each requesting one of you, and unlike some people, I’d like to earn my keep today!”

“I am moving, I am moving, Isabella.” Baljeet sighed, glossing his lips once more. When she left, he turned to Ferb, “I bet you are hoping it is him.”

“Now who’s calling the kettle black?” Ferb smirked at him as the two of them put on their masks; identical to the one Isabella wore, before slipping out the door into the bustling, deafening chaos of the club.

Baljeet wasn’t particularly fond of theme nights, but he wasn’t opposed to them either. Tonight was a masquerade, perfect for the customers to watch without being watched, notice without being noticed, but when looking for someone in particular, it was a pain in the ass.

Sighing, he made his way to the front of the club where his client was waiting.

When he reached the front, he eyed the two men apprehensively from behind his mask.

The brunette stood impatiently, one foot crossed over the other as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, mask down on his face. The redhead sat only a few feet from him, on one of the low-sitting stools, his own mask snug on his face.

When the one against the wall looked up, Ferb had come up to stand beside him, and they eyed each other for a moment before the brunette crossed over to Baljeet, grinning softly.

“Why ya lookin’ at me like that? Don’ tell me ya forgot me already.” The man brushed his teeth against the fast-fading hickey on his neck, whispering, “Surely you remember that this isn’t your first time,” The brunette pulled him close by his belt loops, teasing him, “it’s not as if you’re new to your line of work.”

Baljeet’s jaw went slack, his mouth hanging open slightly, and he said nothing as he simply wrapped his arms around the larger man’s neck to pull him in for a bruising kiss.

When they could finally speak again, Buford teased from behind the mask he wore, “Miss me, did ya?”

“You say that as if…” Baljeet panted, grinding their hips together, “I had a choice in the matter.”

Buford grimaced from behind his mask. “I planned tah come by sooner, but it was hard to get away.”

“You are here now,” Baljeet gripped at the larger man’s shirt, pulling him closer so the man was only a breath away, “Come to the back with me.” He whispered, “Something tells me you deserve your money’s worth.”

“If things’ll be as good as last time, it’ll certainly be more than enough.” Buford smirked lustily.

So Baljeet let him to the back room, hands in the larger man’s belt loops, leaving Ferb and his redhead client to themselves.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Buford pushed the smaller man against the door.

Lips met, mouths parted, and tongues inter-twined, intensely hot and riveting. There was no gentleness here, passion masked that as lips and tongue and teeth clashed. Fingers fumbled on shirts and buttons. Clothing was torn rather than shed, scattered rather than dropped, and gasps escalated in volume and intensity as the air between them began to almost visibly simmer and spark with heat in contrast with the frigid air.

Twin pants echoed out of their lungs as flesh met flesh, cocks rubbing together in a dance of simple, pure, and primal lust.

There were no words, no stuttering, no sounds of shaky uneasiness between them, only urgency, desire and all-consuming need as lithe legs wrapped around a larger waist. Hands, slipping, sliding, prepping. Bodies, heating, connecting, melding. Walls shaking with heavy base; doors thumping with every thrust. Worlds colliding as bodies shook, closing in on release.

Fogged mirrors reflected blurred images, an exhibition all its own.

Bodies writhed, pulses racing, tugging on hair, on nipples, on piercings as backs arched, mouths gaped, and gasps echoed, releases occurring in unison.

Hands clutched hair, clutched skin, clutched wood, and skinny, coffee-toned fingers traced in fogged mirrors, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Kisses followed, disconnecting in one manner only to join in another as lighter-toned, thicker fingers traced in fogged mirrors, “I love you too. I love you too. I love you too.”

The air in the club’s back room was stifling, filled with thunderous beats and stifled cries, fogged mirrors and silent whispers, love found in a world of shattered hopes and dreams.


End file.
